


Little Things

by Valkyrie_of_the_Dead



Series: Oneshots [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 02:46:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1249864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valkyrie_of_the_Dead/pseuds/Valkyrie_of_the_Dead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock doesn't care about little things, unless he's doing his job. John does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Things

Sherlock doesn't care about the little things when he wakes up. Well, he does, but he isn't married to his work anymore. But he doesn't care about little things like John does.  
He likes the rain. Not entirely when he is outside, but when he's inside, he likes rain, likes storms, likes thunder. They sound so powerful.  
He is used to waking up quickly. There is no use in lying in bed, he needs to stimulate his brain, so he doesn't really know the feeling of slowly waking up.  
Sherlock never thought peace could be nice. Everything is boring, there is nothing for him to do, but right now he doesn't mind. That seems to happen a lot lately.  
He glances at his left hand, which is softly touching John's belly, where his t-shirt has ridden up slightly, revealing a toned, but soft belly, golden hair showing the way further down. John's skin is warm. He can feel John breathing.  
The simple gold ring around his left finger is warm as well, comfortable.  
He watches the soldier, the doctor, the man who is only rarely completely relaxed, sleep softly in his arms.  
“I love you, John.”

It's the little things John likes to wake up to. The quiet of the flat, sometimes interrupted by his mad flatmate, sometimes just the peace before a stressful day. The rare rays of sunlight warming his neck, unless Sherlock closed the curtains – or it's raining. The peaceful seconds between sleep and being awake.  
He doesn't mind big things in his day, but it's the small things that really make his day.  
Today is a good day. The surtains are open, the sun is weak but there, and his bed is warm. He turnes his head and catches the soft stubble of his flatmate's chin, pressing a light kiss on it.  
A light rumble is his reward, the soft, dry lips touch his forehead.  
“Awake yet?“  
John only smiles, lifting his hand to touch the detective's neck.  
“I love you, Sherlock.”


End file.
